Aphelion
by Aerus
Summary: How do you live forever when your very existence is the anthithesis of what you used to be? How do you go on when all you have known and loved is gone? How do the first hundred years pass by? And, finally, how does the story end? This is the last part of Alfred's journey of self-discovery and his impossible love that began with "A Deal with the Devil".
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Aphelion

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** _Tanz Der Vampire _and its characters belong to Roman Polanski, Jim Steinman and Michael Kunze. This fanfic is written purely for entertainment and I gain no financial profit by writing this.

**Summary:** How do you live forever when your very existence is the anthithesis of what you used to be? How do you go on when all you have known and loved is gone? How do the first hundred years pass by? And, finally, how does the story end? This is the last part of Alfred's journey of self-discovery and his impossible love that began with "A Deal with the Devil" and continued with "Strangelove" and "They Call It the Queen of the Night".

**A/N:** It seems that I'm unable not to return to this storyline; as much as I have a thing for unresolved endings, I also still feel Alfred's story isn't quite complete. Few more things must be said before I can leave this for good. However, this will be the final part of the series.

As in "To Become a Child of Night", this story consists of parts of various lengths – most of them being short, so I feel reluctant to really call them "chapters" – that take place at various times. Mostly, they are from Alfred's point of view, with some Herbert thrown in every now and then. My intention is to explore his coming into terms with losing his humanity, and perhaps illuminate what takes place after "They Call It the Queen of the Night".

Constructive comments are always appreciated. I hope you have enjoyed sharing this journey with Alfred as much as I have, and now let us plunge down once more with a feeling!

* * *

Slowly and rather painfully, Alfred became aware that he was awake again. It was dark around him, but it took a long moment for him to grasp that; it wasn't like he couldn't _see. _The space was small, like a closet or something... and he was curled up on the floor, covered in blood.

_Blood. _It was the thing that seemed most familiar. It was something he could work with; he knew where he stood with blood.

Disoriented and confused, he had hard time remembering _anything. _What had happened before he had fallen asleep, how had he gotten there... where he even was. It was like everything before this moment was shrouded in darkness. A groan escaped his throat as he sat up and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, hoping that would help with the spinning in his head.

Slowly, the world began making sense again. But then, as soon as that happened, and his thoughts became clearer... there was a face – a pale, familiar face. Gaunt but strangely beautiful, and with the most vivid blue eyes he had ever seen. It was a face that meant so many things, so many dear and painful things that it hurt to remember all that suddenly, and he cried out. He could see it as clearly as if that face had been on the front of him this very moment.

_Johannes. _

And from that face and name, everything unfolded. The deal he had made with the devil, the strange love he had thought they had shared, leaving the castle... his last agonized moments alive, and becoming a monster. _Herbert had turned him. _All the blood, all the death in his hands, and the deep endless dark...

Alfred remembered and remembering was the most terrifying thing he had ever felt: there was a body in the hall. It was the body of a girl he had slaughtered in cold blood, just to sustain himself. Then he had crawled into this dark space to rest for the day, so that he could rise again with the night. Rise, and rise again until the very end of days, for there would never be peace.

He was sobbing, the pain ripping at his insides as he remembered all he had loved and lost, and everything he had destroyed ever since. _And he felt cold. _His heart stood still, his skin had no warmth, and there was the hunger, the kind he knew he'd never be able to fully satisfy. This was his aphelion.

He was dead. And he'd live forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This time, I return with a short piece from Herbert's point of view. A word of warning: I may not update regularly, but I'll try to upload something at least every week.

* * *

You could always tell just by looking when Vati was thinking of _him. _

There was that absent look on his face, and his eyes appeared shrouded; he'd stare into nothingness as if he saw something others didn't. Perhaps he did – Herbert could never really tell for sure. And Vati would forget whatever he had been doing before, with objects dropping from his hands, or pressing the sharp point of his pen through the paper he had been writing on, or a book sitting open in his lap as he stared off to distance, or him wandering endlessly on the corridors with no idea where he had been going in the first place.

It was especially annoying if it happened in the middle of a conversation. As far as Herbert could tell, any thing at all could suddenly remind Vati of _him _and then he'd be momentarily almost unreachable; he'd be physically there, but it was very obvious that his mind wasn't. It was especially bad if Herbert made the mistake of mentioning _his _name. It was a forbidden word, and for the most parts, the viscount managed not to speak it. But when he lapsed... the look on his father's face filled Herbert's heart with unexpected pity.

Usually, it was sad. Sometimes, it was frustrating.

But then, it wasn't like Herbert hadn't known to expect that sort of behavior. It had been very similar after Marius, and after Rebecca. Vati would mope and broodfor a time, and then he'd move on... there would be one night you would look at him and know it was all right. But sometimes, you still could see it – just like you could see the memory of Herbert's mother sometimes pass in Vater's eyes. There were some shadows of the past that never quite dissolved, not when you were a vampire.

Shadows like Alfred's remained forever.

And it filled Herbert with such regret. If Vati knew what he had done... what monster he had created. He didn't feel bad about many things he had done during his unlife, but what he had done to the poor, unhappy Alfred was one of his greatest regrets.

For that, he didn't know if he could ever tell his father the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Returning to Alfred's POV this time. I'm contemplating adding something from the Count himself - we'll see if the next part may have him making an appearance.

* * *

Learning to live again – no, to _exist –_ was hard.

There were times, and those were many, when Alfred very much realized the temptation of suicidal attempts. When he looked at the mirror and saw nothing, when he struggled not to kill his victim, when he tried not to give in to hunger at all... When he slept and did not dream, when he looked forth and saw an empty future... But most on those moments when he knew he could never move on.

Alfred was stuck.

Yet when he held a wooden stake in his hands and pressed its tip on the place he knew his heart was, he never found the courage and the strength to just _do _it. For one, he was scared what would happen; surely someone who had done so horrible things as he had would be cast into the deepest pits of hell? Yes, he was scared of such fate, even if he deserved it. And then... if there _was _heaven, and he somehow managed to get there...

Pathetically enough, he couldn't help but think: would any heaven suffice without _him? _

For sad as it was, the most Alfred knew of happiness was somehow linked with the one he had loved and who was now irretrievably lost.

But the nights went on, with minutes dragging by until they became hours and days and weeks, and he continued to exist.

And it wasn't what he'd have called _life. _He was stuck: he'd never father children and grow old and die. That, at least, would have helped. To move on, to find new things, to fulfill the dreams of his youth... but that wasn't what vampires did.

So, unable to move on yet having no way to go back either, he was left where he was. And it was a difficult existence, and often without purpose... still, he drifted. Now, more than ever before, he really was ship lost at the sea, and the oceans had drowned earth. There was no home harbour for him to return to now, and in the unending night with no sun to break the darkness, it was easy to lose sense of time.

That was what scared Alfred about being a vampire the most.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Like I promised, I did write something from the Count's point of view. This is also a bit longer part, with Sarah making one more appearance.

Also, note that the different parts of the story might not be in a completely chronological order. Pieces from particular characters' point of view will be, but different characters move through time in different paces in this story. However, until I say otherwise, all the parts will take place during the same 100 years period that lays between the stories "Strangelove" and "They Call It the Queen of the Night".

* * *

The thing about time is that it doesn't stop and wait for you. It doesn't make exceptions and it's not forgiving. As a vampire, it was easy to forget that. It was easy to get caught by things that were more or less trivial.

Count Johannes von Krolock was way too often caught by things he deemed trivial but always found himself falling for. It was a poor quality in a vampire, and for him, the source of most of his mistakes and regrets in this world.

That was what he was thinking of that night when he left the castle and – by chance, he liked to think – ventured into the small village near his old home. It had changed very little over the years, and the people remained as fearful of him as ever. He usually didn't go there, knowing his presence wasn't wanted... and, to be frank, he wasn't that interested in human affairs anyway.

But this dark November night was different, and so he landed on the top of the old inn, which instantly made an unwanted wave of nostalgia wash over him. How many years had it been? He could barely even remember. But there it was: the small ceiling window and the bathroom under it, where a beautiful auburn-haired girl had once bathed in while waiting for her life to begin... and just a door away, the room where a certain young man had slept and shouted in alarm once he had heard the Count's voice... It had been decades, but that yell seemed to echo through time and call for him, as if it had only just happened.

Occupied by his memories, Krolock didn't notice _her _at first. But then his eyes focused on the small shape, standing down on the ground. It appeared to be a woman, and she was staring up at him, with a lantern in her hand. _Sarah. _He'd have known her anywhere, even after all this time.

Lightly he stepped down from the roof, his cloak billowing about him; being able to fly was the part he disliked the least about his condition. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him, but he quickly realized it wasn't because he had just floated down from the roof: it was because he hadn't changed one bit since they had last met. Even if you theoretically knew someone didn't age, it was probably still a startling thing to witness.

"Hello, Sarah", he greeted her as soon as his feet touched the ground. She had gotten old, he noticed – as a matter of fact, she looked older than he'd have thought. But then, perhaps his perception wasn't so accurate anymore, as he hadn't observed natural human aging ever since he had turned Herbert. Nevertheless, there was a look in her eyes that seemed to suggest weight of more years than she could actually have lived. Indeed, time hadn't been forgiving for her either.

"Hello, Your Excellency", she answered; her voice was as bright as ever, although it had gotten some depth and dark colours he didn't remember hearing the last time they had talked. She continued, "I thought I heard noise from the roof. So I had to come out and see if it were you. I've been waiting for you, Herr Count."

"Waiting for me, Sarah? After all these years, you're still waiting for me to come and get you?" he asked, hiding his surprise. He had never quite understood it, how she seemed to regard _him _as a solution – the only solution, it appeared now.

"I am", she said, her voice quiet now, and the bitterness of it wasn't lost to him. "I'm still waiting for you, because you never kept your promise."

"I did keep a promise – just not the one I gave to you", the Count answered, allowing himself a humourless smile. "My kind lies. I believed that was quite obvious."

There was a belligerent expression on her face for a short moment, reminding him of a young woman she had once been. Perhaps he _had _wronged her... perhaps he had made the wrong choice.

"Then could you perhaps fulfill your promise now, Your Excellency?" Sarah asked, and there was unexpected weariness about her voice. It made Krolock lift his eyebrows.

"You still wish to become one of us?" he asked. Now it was her turn to smile without any particular joy.

"I didn't mean that. I was hoping... that you would end my life. For good", she said heavily, with finality about her voice that surprised him even more. He wouldn't have expected _her _to ask something like this; Sarah with her insatiable thirst for life was the last person he'd have thought to have such a wish... But then, it had been a long time, and people changed.

"Why would you ask that of me?" he felt obliged to ask.

"Because I'm sick and so very _tired, _and I want this to just finally _end", _she said, sounding angry now, but there was also something defeated about the way she spoke. "I don't have much time left anyway – at least I don't think so. I'm already in pain and it'll only get worse. I'd rather have a quick death than waste away like this. So few things about my life have gone they way I'd have wanted, so _please, _give me at least this one thing."

Now that she mentioned it, there _was _a strange smell to her breath. A smell of death, he realized. He should have recognized it right away. Then again, perhaps he had become deaf and blind to death, having thrived in it for so long.

Cocking his head, the vampire studied her face. Indeed, now that he really regarded her, he wondered why he hadn't noticed her unhealthy pallour right away, and she had this look like she had lost a lost of weight lately.

"What of your family, then? Or do you have one?" he asked. Not that it would have stopped him, but humans rarely offered their lives to him freely. So he was curious. After all, people usually deemed things like family very important – something he could understand because of his own son.

His question had little impact on her, however. If anything, her mouth became a hard line.

"I gave them my life and my future. What more could they ask?" she said, her voice dark. For Krolock, this was as good reason as any; he was in the need of some blood and she was willing to give it, so it all made perfect sense.

"Indeed", he agreed. It was not his business to question her choice; to him, it looked like she was as certain about this as she could possibly be. And he'd be damned if he started _caring _now, when for once he could have a clean death, free of regret.

No more words were exchanged, and he followed her inside. It appeared that the awful ropes of garlic were gone and so he was able to enter, although his keen sense of smell could still pick up the traces of stench that was more or less instilled to the spacious hall. It wasn't enough to affect him, but he'd still be happy to leave the place once the deed was done.

"Just... leave me here somewhere, once you're done. They'll find me and take care of the rest", Sarah said, sounding very calm and collected for someone who was about to die. But then, she _was _Sarah Chagal after all, and she had never been anything if not sure of what she wanted.

"And will they come for the beast who took you from them?" the Count asked as he lay a hand on her back and pushed her head to a side to have better access on her neck. Another joyless smile appeared on her face as she pulled a piece of paper from her bosom.

"I've written a letter for them and it'll explain everything. I did it as soon as I realized I'd die", she said, placing her last message by her side on the table. "It should be enough to take the blame from you. And, to be honest, I don't think they will be very surprised anyway."

"Very considerate of you", he murmured, lowering his face so that he could take in her scent. He tried to remember how she had smelled when she had been young and healthy, but found he couldn't. The smell of disease was just too heavy. "Are you scared?"

"No. I never was scared of death. I'd have died just to be free, and you couldn't even give me that", Sarah said, her body relaxing in his arms. Krolock sighed.

She looked up at him, tears of regret filling her eyes.

"I wish you had done it", she whispered. "I wish you had kept your promise when it still mattered."

"Perhaps it would have been a better promise to be kept", he answered, leaning down so that he didn't have to see her face.

"Then why didn't you do it? Why did you take _him _instead?" Sarah asked, her voice suddenly filling with anger and accusation. He didn't know why, but it irritated him beyond reason.

"Because he was Alfred", the Count snarled, his grip tightening to the point of being violent. Who was she to question his choices? "And you were just Sarah."

And with that, he finally took her life.


	5. Chapter 5

To Alfred, home meant _belonging. _It meant that there was some place in this world he could claim as his own, or to be claimed by it.

_He – _the one whose name Alfred could never think of without evoking painful memories – had once spoken of the outside world as a cruel, dark place, and compared freedom to homelessness. Alfred could now say that back then, he hadn't really understood what his lover had meant. But then, it had been a time when he had expected to spend his life in the castle, and thoughts of wandering in the wide world had seemed very unrealistic prospect. However, the meaning of _his _words had become very clear to Alfred ever since, and if there was one word to describe his condition – his unlife – it was _homelessness. _

Thinking back all the years of his life, Alfred could agree that he had lost his home when his parents had died. He hadn't just realized it then. He had just attached the meaning to the city of Königsberg and the small apartment he had moved into when he had started his studies. But had it been home? He had never felt the real belonging there, no true attachment to the people he met and spoke with daily. Then his nonexistent roots had been torn up once again, because his Professor had given him a job of an assistant on his trip to Transylvania...

It was there, in the ancient Castle of Krolock, that Alfred had found _home _again. That was what he thought as he moved from city to city and the eternity spread in the front of him vast and lonely. There he had felt belonging again, and he had been able to believe that there was a place for him in this world. It wasn't a place he would claim as his own, but rather the other way around: the castle had claimed him. Only, like it always seemed to be with precious things like home, you only understand its meaning when it's lost.

It was odd, to have found home in a place like _his _castle. You'd have thought it would be the last place to incite such feeling of belonging. But so it was, and the passing of time could never dim Alfred's memories of it; he could still imagine the dark corridors and elegantly decorated rooms and the library and the bedchambers with such vividness that it was like he had only left yesterday. Moreover, he could remember the _people _who had made it a home for him with such painful clarity that it felt like their shades were with him even now. Perhaps it was the two vampires, one dark and other light, that had made it his home.

Although the years went by and he travelled a lot, he never found a similar place again. He didn't feel belonging anywhere. And so, no matter where he travelled and who he met and loved and lost, he felt that the Castle of Krolock would always remain his true home.

But what do you do when you can never go home again?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I suppose you could regard this as some sort of companion piece to the part 4, where the Count met Sarah for the last time. This part describes another final confrontation, but with Alfred... and his farewell for _what could have been _is very different than that of the Count's.

* * *

It took some years for Alfred to actually make that decision, but in the end, he did decide to visit Lotte one more time.

The loss of her was yet another thing on his long list of regrets. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye, and to tell her what had happened. It made him ache when he thought of her and how distressed she must have been when he had disappeared. She probably thought him long dead now. Alfred wondered if it would have been for the best to just let her think that way, but then again, she had been his best friend. She deserved the truth. And Alfred needed to say goodbye.

Of course there were the uncertainties: what if she was already dead? What if she didn't live in the village anymore? What if she would be angry when she saw him? But he knew he had to try – had to go to her. For if he did not at least try, it would forever bother him. There would always be those painful _what ifs _that would grow with each passing year. Alfred needed that one small bit of peace of mind, for he had a feeling it might be all he'd ever have.

The hardest part was travelling to the village: it was the one and only time he allowed himself so near the castle. It unnerved him, too; what if _he _got to knew about his visit? But then, _he _had made it very clear what he thought of Alfred. _He _wouldn't probably even care. And what was the worst that could happen?

In the end, finding her proved to be moderately easy. Alfred had feared she might have left the village and he'd have to track her down from some distant town, but it turned out she had stayed and lived her life in the small community she had been born in. In fact, she had barely moved at all: she had married a man who lived just about 20 metres away from her old home.

Being in the village after so many years felt peculiar. The place itself had changed very little; it looked so similar that it could have been yesterday that Alfred and the Professor had first staggered there from the snowy forest. First thing he did was to venture to the old inn, still standing on its old place although some renovations had been made; he figured a place like an inn was where you could receive the latest news of the village... and thus someone there would know if Lotte was still alive. It appeared to be a slow night and only couple rather young-looking men were sitting in the common room, so there wasn't even danger of running into anyone who might have recognized him from the times past.

It even turned out that Sarah's son was the keeper of the inn that had once belonged to her father. She herself was already gone – she had been dead several years. Somehow, it stung Alfred to know that after all she had succumbed to the fate she had so much wanted to avert. He could have saved her from that, but his illusions had long since faded: he knew he wouldn't have been very happy with her in the end.

When he finally stood on Lotte's doorstep, a strange emotion filled him. It was like he had travelled very far and was now arriving home... he'd see Lotte, who had been the best friend he had ever had and who could have been so much more had his fate been different. _He'd see Lotte. _The idea was somehow hard to grasp.

Taking a deep breath he didn't really need, Alfred knocked and hoped this reunion wouldn't prove to be too disastrous. He just wanted to see her face one more time.

There were steps then, and for a moment he feared someone else than her would open the door – that he wouldn't be welcome here... but before he could really allow his worries take a hold of him, the door was opened and she was there on the front of him, over 20 years after they had last seen each other.

She had aged, of course; there was silver in her hair now, and life had marked her face with laughter. Just by looking at her face, Alfred could tell she had had a good life and it consoled him more than he could have known. He was happy to see that her eyes were the same: kind and lively and full of light. However, now they widened with shock as she recognized him.

"Alfred!" she gasped. What she thought of his ever-youthful appearance or the fact he had disappeared without no word of goodbye didn't show; she just grabbed him into a tight hug. As soon as Alfred recovered enough from his surprise, he returned the embrace and held her close to him. Unexpected wave of regret washed over him as he felt her warmth and understood all was forgiven. Before, he hadn't even realized what he had lost in her.

"How? How?" Lotte asked, her voice weak with tears that were running freely down her face.

"That is what I came to tell you, my friend", Alfred answered as gently as he could.

It took a long moment for her to calm down enough, but when she did, she lead him inside. She never took her eyes off him, as if she feared he might disappear otherwise. Her eyes still glistened with tears but she was already calmer. Once they were in a small, tidy kitchen, she sat him down and studied him.

"Why did you disappear? What happened? Why are you still so... young?" she wanted to know.

Again, Alfred took a deep breath. Then he let his lips part and he let her see his fangs: after all, they were all the explanation he could give and more.

Lotte gasped as soon as her eyes fixed on his mouth, colour draining from her face.

"Have you come to kill me?" she asked quietly.

"Of course not! I'm not... I'm a lot less dangerous than I used to be. I just came to see you", he said quickly, needing her to believe him.

Her expression softened and her form relaxed. She still trusted him, even if he was a monster now.

"Tell me everything", she said, and it was somewhere between a request and an order.

"What of your family?" Alfred asked. He didn't want risk her husband – if she had one – walking in while they talked. This was a reunion he'd rather have in peace.

"My husband is sleeping. We won't be disturbed", Lotte said softly and sat opposite him. "Please, tell me what happened to you. I need to know."

And he happily complied. In a quiet voice, he explained what had happened to make him leave the castle, how he had intended to find her... how he had become what he was now. He very briefly described the years of darkness and blood; it wasn't a topic he liked to dwell upon for long, and that really wasn't something Lotte needed to hear. Then he told her of the time he had spent alone, just trying to find his lost humanity and rid himself of as much monstrosity as he could.

Lotte listened quietly, never interrupting him as he spoke. Instead, it was her face that talked: it was alive with empathy and sorrow as she listened to Alfred tell his tale. And the more he spoke of his unfortunate fate, the more he realized how much he had lost. An entire life was there between them – an entire universe of _what ifs. _

Finally, he fell silent and lowered his gaze so he wouldn't have to see her feeling for him any longer. Had coming here been a good idea after all?

"Alfred", she said after a long moment of them both being silent,"that is probably the saddest story I've ever heard."

He looked at her then, and for some reason, she was smiling. How could she do that, he didn't know. But Lotte was like that.

"It's sad because it's my story too", she said softly, taking his hand in hers. It was calloused and hard and so different from the hand he had held many years ago. "It's the story of what will never be."

"Lotte..." Alfred began but found he couldn't continue the sentence. There was so many things that he ought to say, but now he couldn't... yet when he looked at her, it was almost as if she _knew. _Maybe she did. She had always been so knowledgeable.

"Shh, Alfred. I know", Lotte said and she leaned forward, gently taking him in her arms. He could still see it, and all the more clearer: an entire life with her. Only, she had lived without him.

"Just tell me one thing", she whispered as she held him tight. "Would it have been me?"

"Yes", Alfred sobbed, barely able to speak. "It'd have been you. And I'm so sorry that I couldn't tell you that 20 years before."

"It's all right. It's fine, Alfred", she said, stronger than he was. That didn't prevent him from breaking down right there and then; in a way, he was finally letting out all the tears and all the agony he had stored in for so many years. And what would have been more fitting place to let it all out than Lotte's arms?

It was a long moment before either of them could speak again. When that did happen, she was the first one.

"This is the goodbye, isn't it? You didn't just come to visit out of the fun of it. You came to say goodbye", she said softly. She had cried too, but her tears weren't as messy as his. It didn't seem to bother her that her shirt was stained by blood, though.

"I did", Alfred had to admit. "And you know why that must be. You know why I can't stay."

It wasn't just because of the village being so near to _him. _It was also because Alfred could not age or die, while Lotte would. And he knew he couldn't just stay here and watch her waste away. He couldn't just watch her die. She had a full life here and it would have been too much to ask for him to have a place in it.

"I understand", Lotte said softly and pulled back, regarding his face with an expression of fondness. "Yet I can't help but wonder... will you be all right? Who will look after you now?"

"I suppose I must do that myself", he said quietly, but he held her hands a bit tighter. "Don't worry for me. I'll make it somehow."

She smiled again, but that smile held little happiness.

"It's a cruel world, isn't it? To have separated us so... and left you with such a hard fate. I worry for you, Alfred. How will you keep your heart when you're all alone?" she asked, placing her hand on his cheek.

"I'll remember you. It'll help me", Alfred whispered, once again believing as strongly as he had when he had been young. "Your memory will keep me true. My love will preserve me when the darkness falls."

Gently, she kissed his cheeks and pulled back.

"I hope that will be true", Lotte said gently, taking his hands in hers. Despite the calluses, they were warm hands, and they were the first hands holding his own ever since he had died. They just might be the last hands of a living person he would hold for a long time.

And that was the end.


	7. Chapter 7

When Vati brought that girl home, Herbert instantly got worried. Especially when he took in the long dark brown hair that looked almost black but picked up warm shades under light, and the delicate face that oddly reminded him of poor lost Alfred. The girl even had familiar air of awkwardness about her. He could only wonder what Vati had thought when he had seen her... but it wasn't hard to guess.

So he tried to think of a gentle way of telling his father that this might not be a good idea. Of course he knew Vati sometimes had a strange way of coping with things, but Herbert couldn't help but fear it was more than that; he was thinking this girl was some sort of _replacement. _

And Herbert knew how well those usually worked. He couldn't really forget that one unfortunate young man who got viciously killed just because he had almost the right face but the completely wrong attitude.

Also, there was that one thing the older vampire had said to Herbert. Not long after Alfred had left the castle, Vati had told him to give a good smack if it ever again appeared that his father was becoming too entangled with some unfortunate human.

When he pointed that out this time, his father glared at him and growled: _"I know what I'm doing. Do I nag at you about your little escapades among the humans? Now stop meddling with my affairs."_

Herbert had sighed and shook his head. Vati really was hopeless.

Whether the older vampire really _did _know what he was doing, Herbert wasn't so sure. But he could be awfully pig-headed and there were few things he hated more than being told what to do, which frustrated the younger vampire to no end.

His concerns proved to have been in vain about a week or so later, when he spotted her amongst the younger vampires of the castle; gone was the life on her brow, as was everything that had reminded Herbert of Alfred. If this was a sign that Vati was getting over what had happened, the viscount really couldn't say. It never was that uncomplicated with his father.

After that, others came every now and then. As far as Herbert could tell, it was never anything serious – they were just Sarahs, not Alfreds. But one time, when the blond vampire accidentally walked in on his father and his current plaything/dinner without Vati noticing him, and he heard the faintest whisper of _his _name coming from the lord of the house, he knew. Sometimes, his poor old father liked to pretend. Herbert knew Vati hated being so sentimental about anything, and even more he hated it when he was caught being sentimental, so the viscount never said he had been there and heard the older vampire utter that forbidden name.

As strange and impossible that seemed, Alfred had been quite precious for Herbert's father. And out of an impulse, Herbert had destroyed that precious life...

_Now we are even, Vater. _


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes, Alfred thought he could see _him. _

From the corner of his eye, he'd see a blur of long black hair, or a tall lean shape, or perhaps a face so pale it could belong to a vampire. It was always a fleeting moment, but for a second he could feel hope and joy expanding inside himself, and happiness for the unexpectedness and impossibility of it – his lover come to take him home. If his heart could race, on those moment it would have, and he'd think of how it had all been just a great misunderstanding.

A shout would rise to his lips, along with a name... once, he actually called out at a sight of tall dark-haired man.

But then, when he really looked, he'd always be disappointed. Always, it'd just be his mind playing tricks on him... showing him what he so much wanted to see.

Yet, while he knew there was no going back or ever regaining that lost happiness, he kept hoping. Even if he couldn't dream anymore, he could still imagine how it would be. In his mind, he created a thousand scenarios, all of which would end with him returning to the castle. He knew he'd have left everything and everyone, just if that crazy dream could come true and he could go back – go _home. _

Still, no matter how much he wanted to return, he did not. And while he travelled all around the world, there was always one place he avoided, and it was that strange land where he had lived and died. But there were times when he was weak. On those moments, he'd travel to a city like Budapest that was closer than many other cities yet still far enough, and just wander the streets, hoping... well, he wasn't sure what he hoped for by doing that.

Sometimes, longing just was too bad. He'd toy with the idea that maybe this was the time he'd dare go further, actually travel _there _and ask for one last chance.

In the end, he never did. The years would go by, and sometimes the shadows and imaginations seemed more real than reality itself... and Alfred felt, that no matter how vast the distance between them, Johannes would always appear more real than anything else.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing he had noticed about her had been her bright red hair. It was wild and thick and curly, framing her freckled, heart-shaped face like fire. She had big, hazel eyes; their shade somehow reminded Alfred of Herbert's. In fact, she did seem to have similar lively spirit as the blond vampire, and she also had the temper only a redhead could have. Her name was Margeta and after seeing her perform for a month, Alfred was fairly certain he was falling in love with her.

It'd been some fifteen years since he had woken up. Sometimes, he wondered if he should have regarded that as some sort of _birth. _But in the end, he'd rather identify with his lost humanity rather than with his current vampiric state, and what had happened before his awakening had been a horrifying nightmare.

And love was what humans so often wanted. Alfred found it was something _he _wanted too, despite what may be his current state. He was convinced that the feeling of love could be something to distract him... something to make him forget about feeling dead. Perhaps, it would even make him human again – if only in his soul which he desperately wanted to believe he still had.

Margeta couldn't have been very old, but she was very spirited and very enchanting. Well, that was about the first thing Alfred learned about her. When he looked at her it was like... he just forgot. The way she smiled and moved made him forget. He felt young and human again (which seemed to prove his point), and he wanted her. She was pure, innocent. Perhaps her innocence could cleanse him too.

So, after sending her flowers every night for couple of weeks, and then gathering his courage for a one week more, he decided to introduce himself to her. That night, he bought the largest, prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find (although _he _would probably have said it was gaudy) and sneaked into the backstage of the theatre. Alfred was very good in sneaking about unnoticed, part of it probably being because he looked so young and innocent that no one would ever have thought he could possibly harbor any sinister plans (not that he had any considering her). Alfred could never really decide if that made him the worst or the best vampire that had ever unlived.

He hurried up the stairs, keeping his eyes open for a door that would hold her name. She was on her way to greatness and she was already performing main roles, so she'd probably have a dressing room of her own. That was what Alfred hoped, at least. He certainly didn't want to voice out his admiration in the front of several other girls. And he was right: he quickly came across a door that had her name; the dark paint of the letters seemed fresh, so she had probably moved there very recently.

They always said theatre folk were eccentric and unusual. Perhaps someone of her kind would not mind very much him being dead. That was what he told himself as he stood in the front of her door, trying to convince himself that what was about to happen could only go well. She would regard it an adventure, wouldn't she?

Taking a deep breath that made him feel like someone young and alive, he knocked her door.

"Yes? Who's there?" Margeta's bright voice called from inside.

"I brought you flowers", Alfred blurted out and instantly regretted how idiotic he sounded. Well, it wasn't like he had had a lot of human interaction lately.

There was a short silence, and then she opened the door. By God, she was beautiful! Her red hair fell down on her shoulders, and she was dressed in a dressing gown that hugged her curvy shape in a way that suddenly made his chest feel very tight. Her eyes were wide and excited when she looked at him.

"You're not the usual flowerboy" she wondered with something like a frown, but her voice still sounded like bells.

"That's because I'm the one who sent you all those flowers in the first place", he said and knew he'd have blushed if that had been possible for him.

"You did?" Margeta marveled and her hazel eyes widened.

"Of course I did. An actress like yourself deserves all the flowers in the world", Alfred answered, smiling as he spoke. Suddenly, he felt so very _young, _and that wasn't a bad feeling. His hands trembled a bit when he offered the bouquet of flowers to her, and she received them with a smile on her face and a blush on her cheeks.

"Come in, mister", she beckoned him, and Alfred eagerly complied.

Her room wasn't very large: just the dressing table and a rack of clothes seemed to take most of the space, and the rest was occupied by the flowers he had sent (some of which should probably be thrown out already). But it was a private dressing room nonetheless. Margeta, however, seemed to have completely forgotten about her surroundings: she was breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers and looking at the bouquet like she had never seen anything like it. She gave him a coy look from under her long eyelashes.

"Thank you, good mister, for all the flowers. They are very beautiful", she said softly. Oh, how her eyes sparkled! She must have been the most exquisite woman he had ever seen.

"Yes, I suppose so, but they pale in comparison to you", he blurted out. The compliment wasn't very eloquent or original, especially from someone who had been a lover of a very well-spoken nobleman, and again he felt like an idiot. However, she seemed to be very impressed. Pretty and talented as she was, it appeared that she didn't often have adoring members of the audience complimenting her so. Nevertheless, at the moment Alfred was feeling he indeed was the worst vampire ever, because he was fairly certain he wasn't doing very well with the whole seduction thing.

Margeta, however, didn't notice.

"Oh! You flatter me, sir", she said, sounding a bit flustered now. Perhaps he _was _better than he had thought.

"Please, call me Alfred", he said quickly. That made her smile.

"Alfred", she repeated his name and placed the bouquet on her dressing table. "That is a pretty name."

"Well, it's as good as any name", Alfred said; incidentally, he felt awkward talking about himself. Focusing his gaze on her excited eyes, he continued quickly, "I wanted to come and tell you how... how utterly wonderful you were tonight. I've come to see you perform for a month now, and every night, you just... I can't explain it, but you're the most talented actress I've ever seen. You captivate me, Margeta."

She blushed at the compliment and threw another coy look at him; only now he realized how young she must have been... Young and inexperienced. _Much like he had been... _This was so different – she was different. But that was good. _Different _was what he wanted.

"You are too kind, mister Alfred", Margeta said softly. There was an inviting look in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks glowing. Suddenly, he felt intense need for her and it surprised him. For the some time, he had thought that part of himself had died. But now it appeared it had not.

"It's true, though. _You _are very talented", he said, trying to calm down, lest this encounter turned into something he hadn't meant it to be.

She pouted at that.

"My Papa says I'm not that good. He says I ought to get married, and he only lets me act because he hopes I might catch some patron's eye", she complained and her eyes filled with frustration.

"Your father is wrong! Obviously he can't recognize a true artist when he sees one", Alfred vehemently argued, wondering how anyone could be oblivious to her talent.

"You're very kind to say that, mister Alfred", Margeta said with a sigh, suddenly appearing sullen. Desperately wanting to see her smile, he took her hand in his and searched her eyes.

"What if I told you it can change?" he asked quietly. It would have been so easy, to just take her and turn her, and he could show the world how wonderful she was... Well, the idea was easy, at least. Truth was, Alfred had never changed anyone. And there was a very good chance she'd be just like he had been for so many years.

"I don't see how it can change", she said sceptically, but her eyes were curious now.

It wasn't like he had to turn her in order to help her, was it? He could just whisk her away. He had money, after all – it appeared he had some talent in art and he had earned some pretty nice sums. Of course it wouldn't be easy and they'd be living very small, but it wasn't impossible because Alfred didn't need things like food. And for her, he could even go back to his old habit he wasn't so proud of: emptying the pockets of his victims. He had only ever done that because his clothes had literally been falling apart on him, and he had stopped as soon as he had some honest money he had earned himself. But for her he'd do it again, if need be.

"You'd see if you wanted to come away with me", he said and it all seemed so wonderful in his mind, even if there was a small voice in the back of his head telling he was being very foolish and this could only end badly. But he silenced that voice and concentrated on her.

"Come away with you?" she echoed, her face softening.

"Yes. I'd help you to become a real star, like you deserve. I'd set you free", he said and held her hands a bit tighter. It wasn't a bad dream, was it?

"But why would you help me?" Margeta wondered, too overwhelmed to even think of asking questions as to why should she trust a complete stranger. Because that Alfred was – a stranger. He may have seen her perform nearly every night for a month and sent her flowers enough to make her dressing room look like a greenhouse, but that didn't mean he actually _knew _her. But that wasn't important, not now. Or at least that was what he told himself.

"Because like I said, you deserve it", he said, leaning closer. He didn't really do that consciously, though; he just wanted her trusting him.

Margeta, however, seemed to interpret the shift in his posture in a completely unexpected way. For a moment, she sat frozen, staring at him quietly. Alfred remained just as silent, expecting her to speak... She didn't however, and he was about to speak again when she leaned towards him and pressed her lips on his.

It only took a moment for him to recover, and when he did, he pulled her close and eagerly answered the kiss. If the coolness of his touch ever alarmed her, she didn't show it. Instead, she kissed him with all the enthusiasm of youth. And the glorious warmth of her skin! Her lips burned his own, but it was sweet burning, and he felt she couldn't possibly be near enough... She wasn't really a good or experienced kisser, but she was passionate... she was the first person he had kissed ever since _him. _

Alfred hadn't thought of _him _for almost a month, as he had been too preoccupied by other things, but now... Now the memory of the man he had loved almost made him choke, if such thing was possible for a vampire. Margeta, however, didn't seem to notice there was anything wrong with him. She continued kissing him and she was now in his lap, which quickly helped Alfred to concentrate on other things than painful memories. As he felt her soft, curvy body pressing against him, he felt something inside himself rise... and there was sthe strange realization that he had never actually been with a girl. There had never been a chance when he had been alive, and then Transylvania had happened... he had become a vampire and for some time, other matters had seemed more pressing.

And he wanted her. It had been some time since he had felt such _want _and it felt odd and unexpected, but pleasant too. He wrapped his arms about her and pressed her closer to himself, wishing he could have been tall and handsome and confident like _he _had been, but then again, Margeta seemed to find him perfectly adequate as he was.

He let his lips travel lower then and he wasn't really thinking of anything when he did that – he just wanted to taste that exquisite skin. And then there was her neck, beautiful and slender and there was the scent of her soap...

Suddenly, before he could even think of what he was even doing, his lips were on her pulse.

All those times _he _had done this, kissed Alfred's neck and let his lips run over his pulse, the younger man had never realized what kind of self-control it had taken. To be honest, he hadn't even given it much thought. He had just blindly trusted his lover to know what he was doing. He had never know what torture and temptation it was to actually do _this, _to feel that wonderful pulsing under his lips, and to almost _taste _the blood. He didn't know and as such, he wasn't prepared. So, when his mouth met that delicious point where Margeta's life throbbed, his hunter's instinct immediately kicked in and replaced his carnal desires with much more profound and pressing one.

Really, it was not a choice. Choice implied there would have been something Alfred could have done, but in truth there was not. And so his fangs sunk into her tender flesh and there was no way he could have stopped it. Greedily, he sucked her blood, devoured her... and the only thing he could think of was her wonderful, delicious blood. Margeta might have struggled, but his vice-like grip held her in place. She couldn't escape.

When he finally let go, there was not one drop of blood left in her body, and she fell down on the floor when his arms didn't support her anymore.

Realizing what he had done was the longest moment of Alfred's unlife. First, he could barely comprehend or even accept what he had done. How could he so savagely murder someone he could have loved? But as soon as he thought of that, he remembered _him _and all the lives he had taken. This was what vampires did... for nothing was as strong as their lust for blood.

Trembling and on the verge of tears, Alfred fell down on his knees and gathered Margeta's unmoving body in his arms. All that life that had sparkled in her was now gone. That was what always terrified him most: how they were so alive one moment, and then they were just... gone.

"Margeta, please... please wake up... I didn't mean to... please!" he begged and shook her, but his pleading had no effect on her. _She was gone. _Margeta was gone, and he had murdered her.

Painful sobs shook his body as he rocked her dead body, and he wished he could be dead with her. This was not what he had meant – this wasn't how he had intended it to be.

Taking her life was one of the worst regrets Alfred would ever carry with him, but it also taught him one thing: it would never be as simple and easy as it had been when he had been alive. It'd never be effortless like it had been with _him. _

Unless the other one was a vampire.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Originally, I wasn't sure if I'd write this piece, but here you have it: Herbert tells his father the truth.

* * *

"Vater", Herbert began, staring at the empty surface of the mirror like he had done many times in his youth, "I have done a terrible thing."

It was strange, to feel like he was again 16 years old and about to tell his father about some misdeed. That wasn't something he had done in a very long time. Oh, Vati still liked to lecture him every now and then, as if only couple of years had passed instead of hundreds (Vati would no doubt always regard him as a teenager, even if a thousand years went by). But Herbert had long ago stopped feeling he had to tell his father about every little mistake.

However, now he did feel he had to tell the awful truth, and out of habit he was practicing in the front of mirror, although he couldn't see his reflection (a fact that never quite stopped annoying him).

"Vater, I have done something really bad", he began again, imagining his father standing opposite him. He could even imagine the faint lift of Vati's eyebrows, and the questioning look in the blue eyes. Most people weren't that apt in reading his face, but Herbert was the master, and he'd see the older vampire bracing himself for whatever misfortune it was this time that his son had caused.

Vati would know it really _was _a horrible thing, because nothing else would have Herbert confessing it like this. The viscount already hated himself for what he was about to do, for he knew what pain it would bring to his poor old father... and hurting Vati was the last thing he wanted to do. But he felt he had no choice. He couldn't keep this horrible knowledge just inside himself any longer, or it would drive him mad. And anyway, sooner or later his father would have to know.

Herbert had to tell him the truth.

Rubbing his temples, the viscount sighed and felt he'd be having a very intense headache if that had been possible. Taking a deep breath, he stared ahead, as if his father was there in the front of him.

"Vati, I turned Alfred", he said, his voice exactly as apologetic and regretful as he hoped it would be when the actual confrontation would take place. "I turned him for you and I failed. Alfred – our Alfred – became a complete monster."

And goodness, it _hurt. _Just saying out loud that sad and ugly truth made him feel such intense resentment towards himself that he wouldn't have thought it possible. It also resurrected the horror and disbelief he had felt when he had watched his childe wake up. He knew monsters existed – he lived among them and mostly paid no heed – but in a way, Alfred had been most horrific of them all. As innocent, kind and gentle he had been in life, he was cruel and twisted in death. What had made him so terrible had been how all that darkness had been shrouded by _Alfred's _resemblance, and how innocence had given its face to wickedness.

"I turned Alfred into a vampire and I destroyed all that you loved in him", Herbert whispered, his voice trembling now. He didn't even know how Vati would react. Would he be angry? Or what if he were sad?

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to save you. I thought I could do it – that I'd be able to bring _him _along. I didn't mean to destruct him", he mumbled, with less grace than in a very long time. He hadn't stammered like this since he had been a boy.

With a sigh, Herbert slumped and brushed a hand across his forehead. Vater would be so heartbroken once he heard... and there would be no end to that brooding then. Now that he thought of it, he wasn't even sure Vati could forgive something like that. Alfred had been special, after all.

Perhaps he didn't have to tell the truth after all... perhaps it was for the better if he just kept the secret to himself like before. Vati needn't suffer, and what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Yes, Herbert would remain silent, no matter how heavy the knowledge of his foul deed became.

He turned around with renewed resolve, and then he froze.

His father stood at the door, silent and unmoving. His face was blank but his eyes were speaking in volumes, and Herbert knew he had heard every word. The younger vampire doubted he had ever seen such powerful anguish in his father's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Vati. I really am. I just wanted to make you happy", Herbert said quickly, approaching the older vampire. "I didn't want him to go and leave us. I know I did wrong. Please don't be angry with me."

Vater didn't say anything. He just stood there, as if he had suddenly lost all ability to speak and move. In a way, his muteness hurt even more than any angry and hateful words ever could have.

"Vati? Say something, please. At least tell me if you're angry!" the younger vampire exclaimed desperately. "I tried to pull him through, I really did! I didn't think it'd be so bad!"

His father still didn't speak. Instead, his eyes flashed, and suddenly his palm slapped hard across Herbert's cheek. Crying out, the viscount stumbled and fell down. He covered his cheek with his own hand and looked up at his father in shock.

"Vater, please!" he tried.

"Didn't I tell you, Herbert? Didn't I make it clear why I wanted him to stay human?" Vati growled. His eyes were blazing now, and for the first time in many, many years, Herbert was actually kind of _scared _of his father. "For once, I did something good! For once I thought I had made the right choice! I let him go like I should have done in the first place, and you had to destroy him! You had to destroy _Alfred!" _

"Vati-" Herbert tried, but his father shot a murderous glare at him and he fell silent again.

"He was all that was still good about me", Vati snapped, his voice venomous. "And you couldn't let him go."

"I'm so sorry", the viscount mumbled brokenly, lowering his gaze to hide his shame and self-disgust. When he looked up again, he was amazed to see that his father was silently crying. Drops of blood, as a vampire could not cry normal tears, were running down that pale face, and Herbert knew for a fact that Vati hadn't cried ever since Marius had died.

Vampires didn't usually cry. Most of them were too far gone to even be able to do that, or capable of required emotions. But when they did, it didn't look nice.

"That is not good enough", he said, and his voice was hard and unforgiving when he said that. A painful sob escaped Herbert's mouth now and he was convinced this was something his father would never forgive him.

And then, without further word, Vati turned around and left. Herbert didn't see him in the crypt that dawn. He was away for five nights and the viscount never asked what he had done and where he had been: the hard expression on his father's face was enough.


	11. Chapter 11

Margeta's death introduced Alfred into yet another dark time in his existence. Full of guilt and self-loathing, he once more thought of ending his wretched life. In fact, the thought of hell seemed _inviting; _he'd have to pay for all the awful things he had done and perhaps she'd rest peacefully when her murderer suffered eternal damnation. In a way, he already was in hell.

But just like before, Alfred did not find the strength to do it. Several times he sat with the wooden stake against his chest, his insides curling with dreadful anticipation. In the end, he just was too weak to do it.

When he gazed at the sharp point of the stake he had himself carved, he couldn't help but feel intense despair. What would his parents, and especially his mother, say if they saw him now? How would they lament if they knew how very low he had fallen and what monster he had become! He could imagine the disgust and horror on their faces as they looked at him. In fact, he even doubted they'd recognise what he was.

This was not the kind of man they had raised him to be.

With a shout of frustration and helpless anger, he threw the stake away and buried his face in his hands. If only there had been some way to make this all better... if only he could somehow turn back time and...

And what? Turn away when he had been offered the position as an assistant for a professor? Not pay attention to Sarah? Find some other way to save her? Not... not fall in love?

He had known he'd fall – fall _hard, _and that it'd hurt. How else could it end with a vampire? Yet he had just let it happen. All the misery it had caused... and all that blissful, glorious happiness he had felt... All of it for nothing.

For nothing... _No. _It didn't have to be for nothing. None of it had to be for nothing. He could be a better man, or if he couldn't be that, he'd at least try to be a very well-behaved monster.

Squeezing his hands in to fists, he lifted his face and let out a deep, wavering breath. Perhaps there was a way he could overcome this... no one had to die for him, if he just fought it... if he learned to control his hunger. And perhaps there were better ways than taking his life to make amends for all the bad things he had done.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Here's little something for the Christmas Day. I'm actually rather happy with how this one turned out, and I hope you like it too. Merry Christmas to all my readers!

* * *

One could very well be undead, but that didn't mean time just stopped flowing... although sometimes felt like that to Alfred. In a way, he was grateful to humans for their immaculate observation of time, even if there were painful, yearly reminders of how very far he had been removed because of that one impulsive deed of Herbert.

One such reminder was the time of Christmas.

Alfred had not celebrated that particular occasion in a very long time. Well, at least not in a way humans did. It would have appeared a bit odd and somewhat wrong if he had... even if he'd very much liked to do so.

The only thing he did was to venture out on the Christmas night, just to watch people that appeared so happy with their near and dear ones. He even felt a desire to go and peek into some house, to see the excited faces of the young humans, and perhaps the warmth of love on those of the adults... but that would have been too creepy, and so he kept on just dreaming of all those things he'd never have. The highlight of the night was when he stood outside the city's cathedral, listening to the late worship going on inside. Obviously, he couldn't go inside, but it wasn't so bad because at least he could still listen to the singing and preaching. After all, it wasn't like the cold winter weather bothered him.

The last proper Christmas of his life had been when his parents had still been living. That was an eternity ago now, and ever since, the celebration of light and love had seemed somehow pointless. There hadn't really been anyone to share it with, and so he had spent Yuletides alone, buried in his books and silently envying all the merry people who, while their festivities may have been meagre, still appeared to have so much more light in their lives than he did.

The second to his last Christmas alive had taken place during the journey to Transylvania: on the Christmas Day, he had been with the Professor in a small inn somewhere past Budapest. The old man had no family and so he had spent many years apparently not even noticing the whole occasion. The two of them had shared a small meal in the hall of the inn, and Alfred had felt kind of lonely even with the sounds and smells of the living all about him.

After that... well, the vampires were the last creatures on earth that would ever celebrate a religious occasion. So he never spoke of it to his beloved or Herbert. But life was a curious thing and in some ways, the Christmas he had spent in the castle had somehow been one of the happiest ones he would ever have.

On the Christmas night, he had lit a lone candle on his bedchamber's window and gazed out; the air had been very still and it had been snowing, with big fluffy-looking snowflakes floating down silently. It had been almost dreamlike.

Quickly, he had put on his winter clothes and dashed outside, to see... he wasn't sure what he had gone to see. It had been very quiet out in the cold, and it had felt like the air was getting colder. He had breathed on his mitten-clad hands to warm them up, and then _he _had appeared.

His Excellency had been somewhere out. There had been snow on his cloak and his hair that had seemed uncharacteristically messy, which had probably been because of the air blowing through it while he had been flying. Nevertheless, he had looked just as regal and enchanting as he always did. Like so often when Alfred saw his lover, his heart had skipped a beat and he had marveled how such a majestic creature could possibly be with him.

"What are you doing outside?" the Count had asked as he had strode towards Alfred, spreading his arms like in an invitation. That had always been all it took for the young man, and he had tried not to dash very fast as he had ran into those arms.

"It looked so beautiful here that I wanted to come and see", he had said. The taller man had smiled at that and they had kissed, and the young mand had forgotten all about the cold. Then Alfred had placed his head on his lover's chest and held the taller man for a moment. When he had spoken after a moment, his voice had been quiet. "It's Christmas, you know."

"It is?" the vampire had asked and his voice had not betrayed how he had felt about that.

"Yes", the young man had whispered. "Sorry. I know that doesn't really matter here."

"But it does matter to you", Krolock had pointed out and he had pulled back just slightly to look on him, so that Alfred had lifted his face and regarded the one he loved.

"Not as much as it once did. There hasn't really been anyone to share it with in a long time", he had said. He had not been able to hide the sadness from his voice.

The Count's face had become somehow softer at that. After studying the young man for a moment he had leant down and kissed the other one again. The kiss had lasted for a long while and the taller man's grip had become tighter.

When it ended, the vampire had smiled.

"Look around you, Alfred", he had said and his voice had been very soft. Alfred had done as bidden; to his surprise, he had seen they were floating high up in the air, snow falling around them, and the castle was far beneath. He hadn't been scared, for his lover's arms were steady and strong about him and he knew the Count wouldn't let him fall. A gasp of wonder had escaped his lips and he had looked up at the other one with huge grin, feeling his spirit soar even higher than his body had. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever experienced.

"Thank you", he had whispered, for it was really the only thing he could say. He had known there could never possibly be the kind of Christmas he'd dream of, but surprisingly this had been enough, and he had felt his heart almost bursting because of his love for the older man.

"You're welcome", the Count had said with that slight smile of his that didn't always reach his eyes, but that time, it had.

And when he had kissed Alfred again, the young man had felt that particular swelling inside his heart that he had always affiliated only with Christmas.

Never had he known it took so little effort, and never would he forget that night, for it was one of the best he had ever experienced.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

After Vater returned from his mysterious, almost week-long outing, they never really talked again about what Herbert had done.

Vater didn't ask about the conditions of Alfred's transformation, what had happened after that, and where the newly-turned monster had gone. Herbert was fairly sure it was because Vati didn't want to have anything to do with the horrible creature that now vacated poor Alfred's body. He realized how much pain it would have caused his father, to see the vampire that had Alfred's exact likeness yet was nothing like the young man himself.

But even if they didn't talk, Herbert could see that Vati hadn't forgotten. In fact, there was new coldness about the older vampire's eyes; there was tightness there that made Herbert realize his father had not forgotten or forgiven. And the viscount knew his father well enough to know that it would take a long time before this would be put past them.

The younger vampire did not ask questions about his father's trip either, but he had a feeling Vati might have tried to find Alfred – to bring him back or to end the monster with the poor young man's face, Herbert wasn't so sure... but he was also fairly certain that he, and all of them actually, would have known if the master of the castle had indeed found his son's childe.

With Vati acting more antisocial than ever, Herbert quickly found himself very lonely. It was not a feeling he had ever liked, and he certainly wasn't about to change that now. Truthfully, it could often get lonely in the castle, even when his father wasn't withdrawn under his shell like he was now. But now it all was somehow more... _loud. _

But Herbert had once heard (or maybe read, he wasn't so sure) that things had a way of settling themselves, and that appeared to be the case when he came to befriend Magda.

The whole friendship thing with Magda of all people wasn't something Herbert would have expected. For one, initially he had thought her very uncultivated and uninteresting. Certainly her sire, the man Chagal, was like that. However, Magda was different. She had wit and spirit that stood out and though her hunger was just as formidable a thing as any vampire's, she had personality beyond it. She was probably rather pretty too, if you liked women. That was the strangest part, really: Herbert had never had a _woman _as a friend, but it was surprisingly nice. She had insight to things he wouldn't have thought of by himself.

And a nice thing was that, unlike ignorant women often did when they came across Herbert (it was such a burden to look so dashing, really), she did not appear to have an eye for him. As a matter of fact, it was almost as if she didn't even realize he was a very good-looking fellow. There were moments when Herbert was secretly annoyed by that but he never told her that. He had a feeling Magda would have found that funny.

She was not the same kind of friend Alfred had been. Actually, it was hard for Herbert to think of two people who would have been more different. Whereas Alfie had been all modest and innocent and reticent, Magda was loud and blunt and she had no problem about talking about things in their actual names. She was wild and beautiful and she knew it. She had self-confidence but wasn't conceited, and she never failed to call Herbert out for being egoistical or vain. Though that was annoying sometimes, he also learned to appreciate her straightforwardness. No one but Vati ever was so blunt with Herbert, and although that could have been very irritating, he found he rather liked it.

Magda was a friend. And friends weren't something Herbert was used to having.


	14. Chapter 14

When Alfred had regained his _self, _he had at first sworn that he'd never feed on another human. He had been so disgusted with himself, and so determined to be a better man, that he had decided he'd get rid of the monster that lived in him - or at least learn to control it. So he had ran deep into the wild, hunting animals and hoping that maybe somehow, he'd learn to control his hunger enough to be able to at least live near humans. After all, how can you be human if you don't live among them? Even if it would be forever difficult, if not completely impossible, for him to have normal relationships with other people, he'd rather have that than live in the wild.

But in the end, all it did for him to feed on animals was just to grow his hunger and make him half-mad with starvation. At first, it had appeared like he could live like that and take what he needed from the creatures of the forest. But to exist in that way... it was a bit like he was trying to live just on oranges for the rest of his life and never touch any other sort of food again. Only thing he accomplished was to make himself so hungry that he violently attacked the first farmer that came across him. Once he had fed and was feeling a bit more coherent, he looked upon the dead corpse: the man he had murdered looked a lot like a wild animal had attacked on him.

The answer was obvious: vampires could simply not live on animals. Well, maybe one could use them as nourishment couple of times, but after that, the need for blood would simply grow too strong... and then he'd become very hungry and very dangerous. When Alfred didn't feed regularly, his self-control became weaker and weaker until it disappeared altogether, and he was little more than an animal. And that was an emotion he loathed beyond anything.

Even with his strong sense of right and wrong and his wish not to hurt any humans, it still took several years for him to gain enough control to be able to feed on people without taking their lives or turning them. It was so easy to lose oneself while feeding: he had to count every single sip and he had to concentrate so very hard... but in the end, he was able to do it. After trying so hard and shedding so many ugly blood tears for those he had murdered, Alfred could say he never had to kill anyone again.


	15. Chapter 15

When Vati finally emerged from his shell again – which actually took couple of years, a testimony to his ability to sulk – he came to see that Herbert hadn't spent that time fiddling his thumbs. Rather, he had become good friends with Magda, who, as it appeared, enjoyed many same things as the viscount himself did.

"I see you've found a new friend", said Vati one night when they were getting up from their respective sarcophaguses. Herbert studied his father's face intently, but he couldn't see much of that black mood Vati had been in ever since he had heard of Alfred's fate. Well, maybe he didn't look very cheerful either, but then again he never did.

"I have", Herbert said warily."It's been kind of lonely here lately. Magda is good company. Better than I'd have thought."

"Hmm. Yes. I wouldn't want you to be lonely and unhappy", Vati said quietly, turning his face away for a moment. The question rose to Herbert's lips, but he hesitated; would asking it upset his father? But then the older vampire looked back at him again, and the viscount knew he couldn't hold it back.

"Are you still angry with me, Vati?" he asked quietly, sounding very much like that awkward 15-year-old he had once been. Perhaps his father noticed that too, for his eyes that could be so cold became softer.

"No, son. I'm not angry with you anymore", Vater said. Although his voice was gentle, there was also weariness about it. "I know you meant well, and... it's been years already since he... It's high time I let go."

A sob of relief erupted from Herbert's mouth and he dashed towards his father. Vati wasn't really one for shows of affection, but he never rejected them either, and so he allowed Herbert to hug him briefly. The viscount had always adored his father, even if the man could be cold and moody and more stubborn than a piece of rock. But he had also been the constant of Herbert's life and someone the younger vampire could always rely on.

"You know that I'm sorry, don't you?" Herbert asked as he pulled back. He'd have hated sounding so vulnerable had he been talking with anyone else than his father. And his sire would have seen right through him anyway.

"I do, Herbert", Vati said softly, resting his hand on his son's shoulder. "I have... I have acted very wrongly towards you."

"It's all right. I'm still mad at myself because of it. And I'll understand if you can't forgive me. I loved him too, and I should have known better than to do... what I did", Herbert said quietly. Like always, thinking of Alfie made him feel that rare sting of regret.

"But you never blamed me for what happened to your mother, though you were more than justified. I should have shown you the same courtesy", Vati pointed out. That old hurt was there in his eyes, where it would never quite disappear... only, now it was mixed with that of Alfred's.

"That's different", the viscount argued and shook his head. "I knew what I was doing, while you... What happened to Mama wasn't your fault. If anyone is to be blamed for her death, it's Dracula. _He _knew what he was unleashing."

It wasn't the first time Herbert had told this to his father, and at least to him it made sense. Perhaps Vati agreed on some level, to the point of making his hatred towards Dracula even more bitter. However, nothing would ever make him not blame himself for the death of the late Countess.

"I could try and find him for you, if you wanted. I'm his sire, after all..." Herbert began, but the expression on Vater's face silenced him.

"No, son. Like I said, it's high time I let go. He can never come back, not the Alfred I'd want to see."


End file.
